


Borrowed Time

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established OT3, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Multi, OT3, Post Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7826446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three of them are running on borrowed time. It's only a matter of time before the KGB brings back their man, before Solo's contract ends with the CIA, and Waverly calls Gaby into her next job. The three of them only have each other both in and off the field.  In a matter of hours they won’t be together. They’ll be back on their mission as three separate entities and after that, they will be back to headquarters waiting for the day when it all comes crumbling down around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowed Time

Napoleon’s fingers slip into the dimples along the small of Gaby’s back and she shivers at the contact. Her skin prickles under his attention, nerves twitching like live wires as his calloused fingers stroke over the edge of her hips and down the curve of her ass. She shivers again and turns her head up, looking over her shoulder at him with her pink lips parting to throw an insult his way but pale fingers grip onto her chin and draw her back. Illya shifts his legs up, his knees touching her shoulders as he guides her back to him. She edges up the bed, giving Napoleon quite a view as she crawls to their Russian comrade. Gaby’s lost almost all of her clothes. The back of her left thigh sports a heavy scrape and a bruise, her elbows are skinned up too. Illya sits back against the headboard of the bed, his eye is blackened and his lip is split. His ribs are probably bruised if not broken and despite it all he’s inviting Gaby closer. He’s inviting Napoleon in too, letting him join in on their time alone -- their time to heal. 

Their mission has them off the coast of Panama, the air is hot and sticky even with the windows open. The small rented villa has plenty of rooms for them all, but Gaby prefers they share right now. After the day they’ve had, they all deserve a moment of peace in the chaos. Chasing down an arms dealer is difficult, it only makes it worse when one of them took a shot at Napoleon and Illya lost his temper. They fought a bunch of low-life goons, like something right out of a movie and Gaby, Gaby managed to steal a car only to crash it on a soft shoulder that sank into the ground like a sinkhole. 

It didn’t matter now though, Gaby’s hands were planted on either side of Illya’s waist and she was leaning up, lips pressing into the underside of his jaw. The Russian man grumbled quietly, hissing softly when she kissed the split in his lip. Gaby hummed and Napoleon pressed further on the mattress dipping under his knees as he moved forward. His fingers stroked over her again, careful of the scrape on her thigh as he reached for the thin fabric of her underwear. She hums against Illya mouth as Napoleon’s fingers hook into the elastic and draws it down. She whines when the fabric scratches her wounds, but Illya distracts her with his own hands in her hair. He pulls the pins out and lets his fingers drag down along her loose curls. She gasps and he takes it, parting his lips over hers and dragging his tongue over her bottom lip in a silent request, begging her for permission. 

Napoleon pulls the lacy strip of fabric away and tosses it to the floor with the rest of their ruined clothing. He watches the muscles in her thighs twitch when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the soft bit of skin just about her wound. His kiss makes her move forward, she draws a hand around Illya’s neck and drags him in closer, sealing their mouths together for a moment, making their lungs burn under the pressure before she pulls away from him and drags her mouth down the front of his throat. Her lips trace the line of a faint scar from his early training days in the KGB. She knows this because of the countless mornings she’s spent, tracing her fingertips over each and every scar, begging for the story behind each one. She knew his scars better than she knew her own. 

Illya makes a soft noise of appreciation as she nips at the skin along the edge of his collar bone. Her fingers drag from the back of his neck down the front of his chest and she’s tracing the lines of his muscles down to the edge of his hips where he still clings to his modest boxers. Illya’s hands move from her hair to her hands, he stills her fingers, silently asking her to be still. His cheeks flush and she grins against his skin, pushing her hips back as Napoleon’s fingers grip on to her hips, drawing her back into him. His nose slips between her legs, tongue flicking out, dragging along the line of her cunt. Gaby moans, Illya flushes, and Napoleon keeps driving forward. His fingers are calloused, gripping tightly onto her hips, threatening to leave behind bruises in his wake. He draws his hands down further, thumbs slipping along her warm flesh, pulling her open for him. His tongue is magic. He’s warm and flicking his tongue in and out, pressing closer to her. Gaby moans against Illya’s chest and he reaches a hand up, sliding his palm against the back of her head, watching Napoleon steal the words right out of her mouth. She’s shaking against the American’s attention, she presses an open-mouth kiss to Illya’s chest and skims lower. She presses a kiss to the edge of his boxers and drags her tongue over the front of his tented boxers. The Russian gasps and mutters a curse in his native tongue. Napoleon urges her on with another swipe of his tongue. One of his thieving hands moves up and he pushes a finger inside of her. Gaby moans and draws Illya’s boxers down to his knees. She is too impatient to listen to his protests, too impatient to push the fabric the rest of the way off of him as her tongue draws along the crown of his dick. Illya hisses and he rocks forward involuntarily. Gaby takes him into her mouth and his golden head falls back against the headboard. A broken version of her name falls from his lips like he’s uttering a prayer. 

Gaby draws her tongue around him, back and forth in a pattern that has him gasping. Gaby’s thighs are wet and hot, she’s pushing back into Napoleon, shaking, moaning against Illya. The Russian is coming undone but, the Mechanic beats him to the punch. She loses her rhythm, drawing her mouth away from his cock to shout as Napoleon runs his thumb over the front of her clit, dragging her over the edge. There’s a fine layer of sweat over the three of them and Gaby is barely able to gather her wits about her when Napoleon shifts behind her. He’s warm and hard behind her, his leg pushing hers further apart. Napoleon reaches up, he drags his hand down the curve of her spine, watching her shiver under the attention. 

“Napoleon,” She breathes out his name and Illya strokes her hair, pushing it out of her face. He gathers her hair in his hand, drawing it over her shoulder, stroking his fingers along the slope of her cheek. His thumb presses over the edge of her lips and she turns her head in just enough, lips forming around his thumb. She nips at his thumb and presses a kiss to the spot. 

“I can stop if you want.” Napoleon’s voice is strained, like he’s going to unravel at any minute at just the sight before him alone. Gaby red and panting in Illya’s lap, with Illya looking disheveled and dazed, golden hair matted to his forehead and chest heaving. 

The small mechanic shakes her head and dips her head down. Illya hisses and grasps at her hair, his fingers are shaking and he moans, it’s loud and feral, making Gaby push her hips back, teasing Napoleon with a slow circle of her hips. He isn’t one for games right now. His own face is bruised, eye blackened and there’s scorch marks along his arm. They all three medical attention, but it’s nothing serious and right now they need each other more than anything. Gaby backs up further and he guides himself inside of her. She squeezes around his cock and he loses himself in the feel of her. She moans and it triggers a reaction in Illya whose knuckles turn white and he thrusts his hips up, threatening to choke Gaby. 

Illya curses low in his native tongue and it draws a laugh from Napoleon who is dragging his calloused fingers down along the line of her hips. He marvels at the way she feels under his touch, losing himself in the feel of her. He thrusts forward and she swallows more of Illya’s cock which makes the Russian man blush a darker shade of red. Gaby rocks back into Napoleon, draws her mouth tighter around Illya and revels in the feel of both of them. She’s on fire, every bit of her is thrumming with an electrical current that is begging for release. Illya draws his hand through her hair, pushing her lower, dragging her head back up. He’s warning her, losing his voice as his teeth grind together, jaw clenching tight as tries not to chase her down, but Gaby is a dangerous woman. She draws her calloused hand away from the mattress and wraps it around him. 

“Gaby,” Illya’s voice is distant, low and he sucks in a sharp breath. She grins, looking up at him through her thick lashes, watching him fall apart. She watches him come undone. His muscles twitch under her and then he reaches down pulling her head up for a kiss as he comes over her hand. His come slips over her knuckles and she keeps working him slowly, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He hums in appreciation as she lets her tongue dart over his, but he doesn’t get to kiss her for long. Napoleon wraps his arms around her middle and he’s drawing her away from Illya. His hand traces up her stomach, palming her breast as he drives himself up into her. He pulls her hips down harder while Illya collects himself. 

She moans, reaching up and spears her fingers into Napoleon’s perfect hair, messing it up, drawing him down around her shoulder. She turns her own head up and kisses him. It’s messy and off center, she tastes like Illya and he tastes like her and it makes her moan. His free hand slips down from her middle to her thigh, dragging his fingers over and dragging a calloused finger over his clit once more. Gaby shudders against him and Napoleon, the talented devil that he is, pushes her down onto the mattress once more, drawing her hips back into his. He thrusts into her harder now and she moans loud into the messy sheets, feeling Illya’s hands drawing invisible patterns along her skin. He draws his palm over her back, pressing her down into the mattress, close to his legs, willing her on, willing her to lose herself in the both of them. A low moan leaves her lips and Napoleon rocks into her again. His knuckles are turning white on her hips, his well put together facade is crumbling. The Thief is lost in the feel of her and he chases Gaby over the edge once more. Her knees wobble and she threatens to fall to the mattress but Illya pulls her up, Napoleon is still inside of her and she moans from the sudden loss of him. Her thighs are hot and sticky, but Illya doesn’t seem to mind one bit as he hauls her into his chest, pressing her close. 

In a matter of hours they won’t be together. They’ll be back on their mission as three separate entities and after that, they will be back to headquarters waiting for the day when the KGB calls, when the CIA breaks their contact -- when Waverly draws Gaby into a new team. It’s only a matter of time when this, everything they have has to come to an end. Illya’s hands are stroking through her hair while Napoleon slides off of the bed and moves for the shared bathroom. He returns with a warm wet hand towel and takes care of both Gaby and Illya. 

The Russian catches him in a short kiss and it’s rough around the edges, soft but not in the way Gaby kisses. The two pull themselves apart and Gaby makes a soft sigh as if sad the scene before her is over. Illya brushes his nose over her forehead and she closes her eyes, letting the two of them discuss something over her head. Her eyes are heavy and she feels exhaustion running through her veins. Just when she starts to doze off, something stings the back of her leg and she practically yelps as Illya clamps a hand down onto her ankle. The two of them have pulled out the first aid kid and are working on her. Napoleon drags the antiseptic down the back of her thigh once more and Gaby hisses out a low curse, vowing revenge against them with a playful hiss. Illya smirks, tracing his calloused fingers up along her rear before he pinches her cheek. She squeaks and Napoleon chuckles as he bandages up her scrape. 

“Stop that,” She whines reaching back to wave them off. Illya catches her fingers and kisses the back of her knuckles while Napoleon ties off the bandage. He goes for Illya’s lip next, running a clean antiseptic swab over the cut, watching the blonde man wince.

They all end up in bed, licking each other’s wounds in a way that only makes sense to the three of them. They are running on borrowed time, limited minutes are shared between them. Gaby alternates sleeping against Illya’s chest with her legs wrapped around Solo’s own, while Illya catches Napoleon’s hand and squeezes his fingers in an attempt to signal appreciation. Somehow they will learn to move on, but right now all they need is one another. They are still in Panama, they still have a mission to finish.

Illya buries his face down into the mattress, ignoring the way his body aches, relishing in the way Gaby and Napoleon feel against him as he arranges the battle plans for tomorrow in his jumbled thoughts. Tomorrow their mission will be over, but he wonders just how much further he can stretch the capture of an arms dealer. He turns his golden head over and finds Napoleon staring at him, blue eyes bright in the dark. Gaby snores between them and Napoleon nods his head against the pillow.

Tomorrow they will sabotage their own mission for just a few more hours of one another.

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own -- so this is how I spent my Saturday night. Oops.


End file.
